Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Yes. It’s absolutely true; taking any statement, particularly scripture, out of context, is dangerous. I encourage each of you to read and study as much of the Bible as you possibly can. That being said, there are those among us who insist that, in order to be of any value, the Bible must be read in its entirety, with each word taken literally, and nothing taken figuratively. And these people are willing and able to defend their view loudly, passionately and unequivocally, till the cows come home! That’s their prerogative. I wish them well. However, not even the most foolhardy among us, if confronted with eating an elephant, would embark on this endeavor by attempting to swallow the entire pachyderm whole! To do so would be extravagantly imprudent, unquestionably lethal, and almost certainly ruin ones taste for elephant! If an entire elephant is to be eaten without discombobulating ones pallet, it must be taken one tiny bite at a time. Each bite must be methodically chewed and vigorously washed down with something equal to the task, in moderation of course. The same holds true for the Bible.

I’ve been a Christian for over fifty years. Christianity works for me. It doesn’t make everyday a picnic. When you truly care about Christ’s message, life breaks your heart. But daily applying Christ’s message to my life has given me hope, faith, charity, and occasionally joy. I’m not just messing with you. It actually has. If you believe something else works better for you, knock yourself out, but if you see anything in my life that suggests to you that Christianity works for me, and you’re interested in trying it, I have a suggestion. My favorite scripture is Micah, Chapter 6, verse 8: “He has showed you, O man, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” That verse has served me well throughout my life. Take it and make it yours. Plant it in bright, sunny corner of your memory. Water it with your tears; feed it daily with your contemplation, and encourage it with your most persuasive smile. See if it doesn’t take root and reveal new verses. Try that for awhile and let me know what you think. If it doesn’t work, go ahead and swallow the elephant! S. T. Casebeer

No! I didn't take this with my cellphone! This is Placerville, California, alias Old Hangtown , alias Old Dry Diggins, my hometown, circa 1900. It seems somehow appropriate to slip this in at the point. When this old glass negative was exposed, about 110 years ago, my ancestors had already been on the scene in Hangtown for over fifty years. In another fifty I'd arrive.

Below are selected excerpts from

Obie's Quest

"You’d barely recognize old Hangtown. One by one the old hitching posts are vanishing along Main Street, and just the other day I drove from upper town through lower town and never once saw hide nor hair of a horse! Placerville’s old landmarks are fast disappearing, and palatial cinderblock atrocities rise up like the phoenix from their ash. Progress beckons like a siren in the night, and ol’ Hangtown answers spellbound to the call. The boon of electricity has illuminated our little metropolis, and steeds & buggies are fast replaced by Fords. Despite the growth and conveniences, I prefer to recall her as she appeared in the undignified days of her misspent youth, back in ’49. In my mind’s eye, she still exudes the uncivil scent of sawdust floors and canvas; the rustic, rough sawn facades glow hospitably in the crimson shades of long spent sunsets, and rows of tents glow pleasantly, flickering with myriad lamps.

Reminiscing now, from this lofty vantage point, I’ve been blessed with a first rate life, with only a few regrets. As a young man, life afforded me all variety of opportunities. Those that I pursued I occasionally regretted the next day; the rest I regret now. Having said that, one thing that I’m proud of, is that in all the blissful days of my misspent youth, I never once led a young lady astray. I followed several, but I never led any.

I remember sitting by a crackling fire, high in the Sierra Nevada’s, and listening to the ill-tempered Jerseys filing past, with their cowbells clanking and their babies bawling, and the old bull curling his lip and looking for work. I remember standing on the rough plank sidewalk, outside the Ivy House, inhaling the aroma of grilled ribs sizzling, over Manzanita coals, and watching the massive freight wagons lumber by, with their oxen lowing, their hames bells jingling, and the iron-clad rims of hickory spoked wheels smashing the gravel to dust, beneath their cumbersome tonnage of crocks of butter and barrels of fragrant cheese. I remember believing that my whole life would be a long and wondrous adventure. And it was.

Standing here on top of the hill, with the setting sun casting a warm glow on the canyon’s crimson foliage, inevitably brings to mind those golden autumns of long, long ago. Closing my eyes with the soft warmth of sunset on my face and the murmur of the crick in the distance, my memory reflects a shimmering image of overnight outings long ago, when summer was perennial and I was a barefoot kid. I remember the goose bumps and satisfying shivers as Grandma prepared me for bed, and washed my summer-hardened feet from the rocky banks of a brisk, babbling brook. I recall my Granddad’s twinkling eyes and his pleasant, raspy chuckle, as I hugged his neck and he rubbed his whiskery chin against my face. Here on the hill where I raised my family, I revisit my time of parenthood, and recall priceless memories of my own mom and dad, ages ago when life seemed simple, and childlike faith assured tomorrows joys. Treasure your memories, keep ‘em fresh, and never take ‘em for granted. Even our memories can fade with the harsh glare of time.

Looking back, our lives whiz by before we know what hit us. We spend our first thirty years thinking about our future, the second thirty thinking about our past, and our last years wondering what the hell we were thinking! The older I get, the more adamant I become in my belief that we should start out old and grow younger every year. On each successive anniversary of our birth, we could assemble all our friends and family for a truly heartfelt celebration, and joyously remove one candle from our cake. What could be better than to spend the first fifty years of our life, looking forward to becoming a little boy, and tormenting little girls? "

Monday, December 27, 2010

I’ve been accused of being a hoarder. Guilty as charged! I have odds and ends of stuff, stored away in every crack and cranny of this old house; things that are completely useless to anyone but me. I have my great granddad’s worn-out old straight razor, and my great grandma’s gray graniteware coffee pot, not because I ever intend to use them, but simply as mementos of people I’ve loved and lost. Sadly, there are occasions when I even try to horde God’s love. Sometimes I feel like, if I could just soak up enough love, I’d be happy. It never works! The more I try to hoard love, the emptier I feel. This is the time of year when we all make resolutions. I’ve made mine. This year I’m bound and determined to spend less time trying to hoard God’s love, and more time trying to share it. I’m going to try and dispense God’s love, faster than He can fill me. And we’ll just see what happens.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

By the time we’d waded out to the preacher, the water was chest deep on me and almost up to Mariah’s quivering chin. I stood beside the deacons as the preacher took Mariah’s hand and quoted several lines of scripture. I could hear Mariah’s teeth chattering, and her eyes were wide as fruit jar lids! It took every bit of her determination, and she never took her eyes off mine, but she repeated that scripture line for line, held a hanky against her face, and the preacher plunged her head and all, into that swirling torrent!

Mariah was still fighting desperately to catch her breath and part her drenched hair from her eyes when the preacher turned to me. By now we were all near the point of hypothermia, and the preacher abbreviated the process considerably. He was still a tad long winded for my taste, but he was a preacher after all, and you had to admire his sagacity. My teeth were chattering till I couldn’t hear a thing he said, but when it came to my part, he nodded, I nodded, and he plunged me backwards into that arctic bath.

I hadn’t had very high expectations for this experience. I’m not really certain what I expected. There were neither doves nor angels, but somehow a load was lifted, and something deep inside was changed for good. It wasn’t that my path seemed clear, but I knew which steps felt right and which steps didn’t, and I was brimming with the boundless exuberance, which comes of a youthful faith. Mr. Mac Gregor played his bagpipes as we headed for the shore; the sun came out and the whole crowd joined in song. We didn’t loiter long on the banks; everyone was frozen half to death! I can’t really explain it, but as we trudged up that hill, hugging, slipping and shivering, with those Baptists praising God, I experienced a peace down deep in my heart that would temper the rest of my life. From “Obie’s Quest “